


Nate Hits Rock Bottom—The Tale of Oblivion Job

by crayonbreakygal



Category: Leverage
Genre: Angst, Dark, Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 23:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14389218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crayonbreakygal/pseuds/crayonbreakygal
Summary: Nate wasn't celibate. After Maggie threw him out of the house, where did he go? What did he do? Takes place mostly pre-series.





	Nate Hits Rock Bottom—The Tale of Oblivion Job

**Author's Note:**

> OK, folks, this is fairly dark and not that flattering to Nate at all. There's always been the question of what did he do for those two years between when Sam died and he joined Leverage. And the fact that his team members think he's still a priest in some ways. What would drinking do to his psyche? How far did he have to go to hit bottom? As Nate would say "You know, you pick up things here and there". Yep, you certainly do, Nate.

Nate Hits Rock Bottom—The Tale of Oblivion Job

Takes place pre-series, the two years that Nate lived after Sam died and Maggie divorced him.

 

Nate wasn’t celibate. What made them think he was celibate?  It was one of the biggest reasons he didn’t become a priest.  He would have been thrown out of the priesthood, if he had gotten that far.  He never understood why that had to be a rule.  In fact, he never followed rules very well to begin with, which was why he quit the seminary in the first place.

He had all the sex he needed when he was married.  Marrying someone compatible had been a necessity.  Married sex was fun, at first. Days, weeks away from home seemed to squash the need for it at the time. Time was not his friend. Then he forgot about it, dealing with doctors and money troubles and the need to drink away his problems.

Once Maggie had thrown him out of the house, Nate drowned in the bottle. Drinking had been his release before. Now it was just a way to mask the pain. 

The first time it happened, it was messy and out of control.  He came within minutes of starting, having not been with a woman in over six months.  She was not pleased with him at all, until he made it all better by finishing her off.  A free meal, a few drinks at her place, and a soft bed in which to lounge, until she threw him out the next morning before she went to work. Nate didn’t even remember what she looked like, but her floral scent would set him off on occasion.

The next time it happened, Nate actually paid attention, which meant he wasn’t that far gone from drinking. Sure, he’d had a few drinks, just to tide him over. Then she walked into the bar.  She was looking to get laid and he was happy to oblige.  Not that she wasn’t approached by several other men, wanting a fun night.  He didn’t want fun. He wanted oblivion. Kindred spirits, he guessed.  Long dark hair, musky scent, long eye lashes, dusky rose tipped nipples that tasted so good. He could have stayed there admiring them for hours, except she had forced his head down, pulling on his curls so tightly he groaned out in pain as he made her come. If he had known better, he would have thought she wanted him to hurt. That didn’t matter. By the time they were done, she’d come three times, so there was no room to complain.  The last time, she’d brought him with her, thoroughly and completely.  His brain whited out for a moment or two, him forgetting why he was in the dark and dank hotel room. 

The third time, she seemed to feel a bit sorry for him.  Her deep dimples accented her pink skin, which was that color from exertion.  She most definitely liked to go at it, having him panting under her.  For such a petite thing, she certainly loved to take charge of fucking him into oblivion.  She laughed a little when she saw what she was getting, as he shucked his clothes as quickly as she did.  Something about beggars can’t be choosers.  Maybe she’d wanted some kind of Adonis. All she got was a semi-washed up drunk who was heading toward an early death. At least she said she liked his smile.

The next one did not like his smile at all. She called it smarmy, but from the way she ground against him in the truck stop bathroom, Nate didn’t think it really mattered one bit to her.  He’d taken to carrying a supply of condoms, just for this instance. He had no idea what diseases she might be carrying, hence the need for protection.  She wasn’t a prostitute but had been around the block once or twice or twenty times, just like he had, or was heading towards.  The lights were too bright, blinding him from really enjoying what they were doing.  As he spent himself finally, he realized that her participation had waned. He left her on the floor, strung out and throwing up whatever she’d taken a few hours before.  No more truck stops for him.

So, a bar it was.  This one was very loud, very obnoxious, but it suited his needs with cheap happy hour drinks, so he couldn’t complain. The clientele was way too young, not jaded enough for his tastes.  The red headed bartender, who was a bit older than her customers, shook her head like she totally understood what he was thinking as she bent over to hear his next drink order, inadvertently flashing him. She smelled of vanilla and some kind of hair product.  As she served another patron a drink, she flashed him a knowing smile, winking back when Nate acknowledged her signal.  Her hair came down from the twist she had formed at her neck when he pulled at it as he fucked her from behind.  She’d been fun, fulfilling a need, slaking a thirst for someone who just wanted to be for the night.  Too many had wanted him to stay a little while, set down roots. One-night stands were more his style, as was getting shit faced every couple of days.

The next one was way too sweet for him, a school teacher for goodness sake, a night on the town for her and her friends.  The rest had hooked up with what looked to be younger men (she probably was pushing forty), but she sat at the bar twiddling her thumbs as a man in his twenties attempted to pick her up. Instead, she pushed away from him and sat down beside Nate at the bar.  Did she think he was respectable or at least more respectable than the idiot who had hit on her?  Feeling sorry for her, he bought her a drink, which wasn’t Nate’s usual M.O.  They talked for a while, him weaving a tall tale that she wouldn’t remember the next day.  Nate was getting good at telling lies about himself, making himself seem a totally different person. It was better than telling them he was a washed up ex-insurance agent who lost everything in the blink of an eye, needing a place to stay for the night. That would not get him anywhere. Her dark locks fell into her eyes as he told her of his misfortune of losing his friend a few weeks ago (totally not true). If she was playing coy, she definitely had it down pat.  She honestly believed him, attempted to comfort him in his time of need.  Damn he was getting good at conning people.  Another drink and they were off to her apartment, clothes shed right after the door closed. She was noisy and really didn’t know the first thing about a one-night stand, but that didn’t matter.  He could pretend for at least one night that he had a steady job, a nice girlfriend and a life to live. And he got to come three times before she called it quits. He left as she was showering the next morning, right after he had cleaned up himself. She had declined his offer of a shower together, which gave him time to rifle through her wallet and take a few twenties for the road. 

The next one was trouble with a capital T.  She seemed demure on the surface, but once she got him back to her place, she’d taken out the handcuffs. Nate had learned early on in his career how to pick the locks on them, but what if she never gave him the opportunity to do it? Instead, he had taken them and used them on her, much to her delight.  Then he proceeded to show her that he indeed could be kinky, which his former wife said he’d never be in the bedroom.  Let’s just say her toys were put to good use. She went to sleep happy, but much lighter in food from the refrigerator. Hey, all that work made him hungry.

The next time, Nate wasn’t looking for a lay. He was looking to get drunk. He had been on the road way too long without a break. His clothes needed to be cleaned, his face was unshaven, and he probably hadn’t changed his shirt that day.  That had not mattered to her one bit.  The blow job in the alley was unexpected.  Why had he consented to it?  The door to the back of the bar opened, a very large, very muscular man came walking out, calling what Nate thought was the girl’s name.  Nate never moved so fast in his life, while the girl who had been on her knees only a few moments before tried to explain what she was doing in an alley with a stranger.  He never went close to that town again.

Money was always short, so Nate would pick up odd jobs here and there. Dish washer was one he could do without much effort or thought.  It would earn him a few bucks until he left town for the next one.  It felt good to not have any responsibilities, no need to call home, no need to make it to dinner on time.  No one to be held accountable.  He watched too many people being held accountable every single day of the week and was so glad he didn’t have to do that anymore.  Nate was free to do whatever he wanted to do, which was drink or screw, whichever presented itself first.

The next one was hitting too close to the mark.  Her accent lilted through the air, making him sit up in attention.  Even her hair was the same dark color.  Nate had managed to clean up a little, looking for a job but not finding one to his liking at this stop. She was there on business, stopping in for a drink before her meeting the next morning.  He always chose a bar in a hotel, which helped with either picking up women or finding a place to sleep without paying.  He listened attentively as she told him about her deadlines and frustrations with the men who were above her in pay scale. He played along quite well until she asked him what he did for a living. Then he lied his ass off. Always use the truth to tell your lie, she’d told him once. That made it easier to remember later what you told them.  The woman believed him. He was an art curator in town for a show. That was his story, only he had no idea whether there was any show in town. It didn’t matter since he’d never see her again. What mattered was the fact she invited him up to her room, slowly peeling his clothes from him. He could fantasize for one night, that she was in the States and actually cared about how he was doing.  As he thrust into the woman, Nate only saw her face, the way it was the first time he saw her in Prague, but that was so long ago, she probably wouldn’t even look like that now.  Hell, it was his fantasy and he could imagine whatever he wanted.  She must have liked what he was doing because she moaned louder and louder right before she came.  The problem was his shouting of his fantasy’s name, which had her pulling away from him in anger. So much for spending the night with a doppelganger to the one person he’d really love to have in his bed.

The next time (well, it was possibly a few times after the last time since his view of time was now skewed) wasn’t something Nate thought would happen.  He was massively short of funds, only enough to buy a few gallons of gas.  He’d rummaged in the last trash can in an alley a few miles away, so at least he had something to eat.  People threw away so much decent food.  Now that was a sign of a person down on his luck, eating someone’s leftovers.  The worst part was he only had a few more swigs of cheap alcohol. He’d have to either steal or beg for more.  One more gallon in the tank could at least let him afford a few beers to tide him over.  As Nate pulled the cheapest beer from the refrigerated section of the mini-mart, he noticed that the store was devoid of customers, except himself. The guy up front was reading a book. Looking at the clock, he noticed that it was three in the morning. No wonder there wasn’t anyone in the store.  Time didn’t matter all that much in his world.  As Nate started to pay for the beer, he realized he was ten cents short.  The guy at the counter told him no problem, pulling a dime from the stash in the jar on the counter.  Instead of leaving right away, Nate handed the guy one of his beers and leaned up against the counter.  That would leave him four more crap beers but sharing at that moment seemed to be the better bargain. As the guy talked about how much it sucked being in the middle of nowheresville at fucking three a.m. in the morning, Nate scratched his beard, wondering where his next meal was coming from.  The guy sensed his lack of enthusiasm at conversing, so he stopped talking.  Nate should have left, should have made his way to his cold car and found his threadbare blanket, but the store was warm and lit. At that point, Nate didn’t fucking care where he was other than in that fucking car.  The guy at the counter pointed out that Nate could stay in the parking lot until he got off work at six in the morning. No one would hassle him if he wanted to catch some shut eye. He thanked the guy and headed to the car. At six, the guy tapped on the window. As he lowered the window to thank him, the guy offered to take him home.  At first, he thought he was fucking crazy to take the guy up on it. He wasn’t gay, had never even thought about guys that way, even with the priest thing from years before (cliché, yes).  He accepted.  That’s when Nate knew he was losing his fucking mind. Downing a literal fifth of whiskey at the guy’s apartment, Nate floated into oblivion as he let the guy do whatever he wanted to his body. He’d reassess in a few hours when his drinking fueled head cleared.  The guy even thanked him once it was over.  Nate threw up in the alley after he left, but at least he now had a hundred that he lifted from the guy.

Things had to look up from there. He must have hit rock bottom, living out of his car, hooking up with strangers just to steal pocket money, drinking until he couldn’t feel anymore. At first, it all seemed like a game to Nate, if just to get to the next town so he could drown again.

Nate had been out on his own for almost two years, with more than a year of driving around trying to find something.  Whether it was screwing or drinking or trying to find himself, he knew he couldn’t continue much longer. He was meant for an early grave if he didn’t stop.  A phone call made him pause.  It could be interesting.

Maggie must still be paying his phone bill or hadn’t noticed that his phone was still on her plan because the shrill sound of it startled him.  A possible job offer? On what planet?  They would pay for him to come for an interview.  He’d oblige, if just to get a trip to Chicago. Nate had no idea who had set it up. There was even a cheap hotel room for him.  So, he said yes. What did he have to lose?  He obviously had nothing to lose because the interview went horribly. As he sat drinking in the airport bar, ready to head back to his lonely existence, a portly man sat next to him, changing his life forever.

 

“Well, you were almost a priest.”

“I wasn’t dead.”

They always chided him that he really was a fucking priest.  He never made it through seminary.

“Nope,” Parker quietly agreed with him.  Her knowing look startled him. It was like she read his mind.

“Prom night,” Eliot said, not really paying attention to Parker.

“You do what you have to do,” she answered back.

Sophie looked from Parker to Nate and then back again.

“Oh. Ohhhh.”

“What?” Hardison asked.

“You don’t wanna know,” Parker said as she grabbed his arm to steer him away from Sophie’s knowing face.

“Wanna share?” Eliot demanded as he pulled the label off his beer bottle.

“Not drunk enough for that,” Nate replied to Eliot’s inquiry.

“Or sober enough,” Sophie finished for him.

“But when you’re sober, you realize all the shit you’ve done.”  Both Sophie and Eliot stared at him, wide eyed and wondering what the story was. “I wasn’t celibate, if that’s what you’re asking.”


End file.
